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no coherent thoughts but know that i am oftening thinking about the many lives and names and roles of milady. she's been sister jeanne, anne de breuil, the comtesse de la fère, milady de winter / countess sheffield. she's been cardinal richelieu's agent and then the queen regent's agent. she had a brief stint as the king's mistress. do you think she even knows who she is, herself, deep down? do you think she wonders sometimes what little clarisse preudhomme would have turned out to be like, had the circumstances been different, had life not been so cruel to her?

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I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST I CANNOT GO BACK TO !!!!!! anyways

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"i would be forever in your debt, my good sir."  eyes suddenly alight with something roguish, appreciative to find that the queen's man is such a likeminded individual, their statuses aside.  she reclines in her chair, impatience dwindling for the time being, even if her fingers do still drum away at each other in her lap.  "mm, it takes a great deal to enthral and engage me for long, i fear."  perhaps it is her widowhood to be blamed, too much free time to possibly fill up and a constant lingering shadow cast over her; or maybe it is the mantle of motherhood, keeping her too busy to properly enjoy all that london has to offer her.  the truth, though, is something more far simple –– the ton's going-on seem so trivial, juvenile.

The subtlest imprint of a smile obscures his still facade. With a swift wave of a hand, Brimsley ushers a maid to remove the empty cup. ❝ Truly a pity, ❞ he remarks, the slightest hint of testing sympathy woven into his tone. ❝ If you desire stronger tea, my lady... ❞ An impish gleam flickers in tune with the inflection. ❝ I can certainly have that arranged. ❞ He folds his arms behind his back. ❝ It seems as though the happens of the season fail to keep you entertained? ❞

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"yes, i think i would, brimsley."  it comes only after a quick clearing of her throat, as though suddenly aware that she had strayed into the quagmire of her own thoughts.  terribly rude of her, anne thinks, though it is difficult to bring herself to care too much about it.  "a pity it is too early in the day for something stronger."

Remaining at a felicitous distance, Brimsley inclines his head toward @debreuil, ever slightly, while stepping forward. An air of practiced etiquette embellishes the lines of his posture. ❝ Would you prefer more tea, my lady? ❞

♔― starters

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Costume Appreciation

The Three Musketeers (2011)

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my feelings towards the bbc series are a mixed bag overall but i do love milady’s scene in the confessional where the writers dared to have her utter the words “why did god abandon me? why didn’t he answer my prayers?”

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the incomparable milady for @debreuil

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looootta thoughts tonight about milady + her lack of remorse. how she doesn't need a redemption arc because she doesn't believe she needs to atone. she's not tired of her ways, but she is tired of being the hired gun, of being someone else's weapon. remorse is a weakness, so she simply doesn't feel it. in the past, she did what she had to in order to survive; and now, she does what she's paid to do, also to survive. experience has taught her that the only person she can completely rely on is herself, and so she will do whatever it takes to protect herself, because who else in this world has ever done that, who will ever do it, if not she?

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i am the knife. i am all blade.

Saint Catherine of Alexandria (1598-99) - Caravaggio | Giuditta con la testa di Oloferne, Fede Galizia | Judith, Artemisia Gentileschi | Judith, August Riedel Courage, Anxiety and Despair: Watching the Battle, James Sant | Judith Beheading Holofernes, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio | Maria Nephele: A Poem in Two Voices, Odysseus Elytis

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"if the realm is already engulfed in war, what harm is a little more?"  she ponders, aimlessly trailing her fingers along the edge of the table in front of her, poised such as a rattlesnake might before striking––but she is simply waiting to see how her dear niece reacts, to hear if not her thoughts, then her rebuttal.  "but traitors they are, for standing by as that lout you call a brother takes your throne."  what right she has anymore to call the almost-queen her niece, anne is not certain.  it was only shortly after her marriage that she had met the late queen, and then she was dead within the year; as for her brother, anne's husband, he's been gone a little over a decade (and thank heavens that he never had to see what became of his idiotic son).  the links that tied them together are both buried a long time now, the blood in their veins as different as fire and ice, but for as long as she is called aunt, anne will play the part.  "whether you wish them to meet the sword, or to see out exile, or even to be pardoned is something only a queen can decide, but i would not let their treachery go unnoticed."  

a compromise. her eyes narrow, “ would you have me plunge the realm into war even still, lady aunt ? “ the question is quiet, near flat - balancing on a razor’s edge between neutrality and irritation. was that all it truly appeared ? she did not wish to wage war against her siblings -— she did not believe any of them had much of a choice in the matter ( how indeed, could they ? led as they were. both by their grandsire’s own machinations and their mother’s all encompassing worries for them. ) even aegon, who now sat upon their father’s throne, had shown little interest in what his mother’s allies had deemed his, by right of birth. showing little interest in the king’s own word - it would be a cruelty that would scarcely be needed should they repent. and one such as aegon’s could not be forgiven so simply. “ they are little more then children, should they bend the knee to me, should they ask for my forgiveness — should I still attain them as traitors ? “ she had little wish to begin her reign with something so accursed, stained forever in the act of condemning her father’s last wish; for peace within his family - between his wife and daughter. “ I will not be that sort of ruler, “ the words come near frigid, “ call it what you will. “

@debreuil

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𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒?

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒.

no amount of orchestrated class is ever going to hide the fact that you’re doomed to be alone. you’re a puppet, you’re a weapon, but most importantly? you’re a fraud. your facade isn’t malicious, but that doesn’t change a thing. everything in your life is in your control now, and you chose to let yourself become stiff and distant. you’re guilty of everything you blame yourself for, and your misfortune is the fault of nobody but yourself. your selfish nature forges you into a man-made monster, so quick to blame and so desperate to escape consequence. i hope that you can become someone you’re proud of soon.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: @bridgeirton this was so rude of hateful thank u x 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: every single person who hasn't done this yet mwah!

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MAIMIE MCCOY as Milady de Winter in The Musketeers (S01E01)

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@halfyearsqueen * 🎁 – an ego thing, lizzy mcalpine.

"i can't stand a compromise, your grace,"  is it a simple occupational hazard, she sometimes wonders, a neccessary quirk for a spy of her standing, anonymous yet with an infamous reputation, whispered of in only the murkiest circles in the darkest corners of the court?  perhaps.  but then, perhaps not.  her past indicates otherwise.  "something tells me i'm not alone in that."

 

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@stjusts * 🎁 – the house of borden, lizzie.

"–mind, margot, these are not my words,"  she is quick to clarify, as though such a disclaimer is even required, or remotely trustworthy at that.  innocent as she may look, milady is anything but; to take her at face value has and always will be a grave mistake.  she deals in many things, but information is one of them.  "but one does hear things on the street."

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spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.

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BETTER FOR THEM TO BE AFRAID. BETTER FOR THEM TO THINK THEY’LL TURN TO STONE.

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"how well can we ever know one another, margot?"  sobriquet is used, almost mockingly, although she fails to put much bite behind it.  anne is no more her name than milady is than clarisse is than sister jeanne is.  she does not know what she answers to, truly, whether anything as personal or as human can belong to her at this stage.  the humorous quirk of eyebrows, inky and fine as they be, belies the tension in her expression, and frame a gaze more reminiscent of a hawk circling its prey.

these are frightful times they find themselves living in, wild and uncertain, each day different from the one that came before; and the risk of being caught and executed for her actions  (her crimes––for or against the crown?  both?  neither?  does it matter?)  has never stopped her before.  she is a woman born to take the blame, darkly fated for the noose or the guillotine or what have you.  "much has changed in the world since we last saw each other, i trust i don't need to tell you that."

¹ @debreuil : « for many months this has been my task. »

i know you, a small voice echoes, threatening to crumble the front masking her trepidation. there is some sense of comfort stirring through her –– she knows, better than most, how scarce old friends are to find in this cataclysm consuming the streets of paris –– however, comfort turns to fear, and fear to indignation and caution as she meets milady's gaze with a wide-eyed, puzzled stare.

‘ i knew you once, anne, ’ the name rolls off her tongue so easily, as if she's always remembered and cherished it, like a prayer she said before bed. anne instead of milady, i knew you instead of we were friends. her voice threatens to break, and she already finds her composure cracking beneath her. ‘ i knew you once, and this wasn't — this isn't — heaven above, what's happened to you? ’ i've already seen too much death. i've already lost too much... i don't want to lose you too.